


The Dance

by SuhailaUniverse



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Book 2: Dragonfly in Amber, F/M, Paris (City)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuhailaUniverse/pseuds/SuhailaUniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night of missed opportunities to dance together at Versailles results in a little private lesson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dance

The night was silent but for the fire’s crackling and the light pitter-patter of raindrops against the window sill that filled the Parisian air, breaking the hush over the sleeping house. She sighed deeply, rubbing her feet as she sat by her dresser, relieved to finally get out of the stifling clothes she’d been wearing all evening and be in nothing but her shift. Her back ached, as did her swollen feet, but all pains disappeared at the sight of her husband clad now only in his kilt with his back to her. He stretched his arms above his head causing his back to pop and him to moan with pleasure.

“Not at all surprised you’re knackered. You practically danced with every woman there tonight.” She chided playfully.

“Och weel, there was only the one lass I wanted to dance wi’ but _she_ didna want to dance wi’ _me_ ,” he retorted, looking over his shoulder at her as he stood by the ewer, preparing to wash the night’s exertions off his face.

“It isn’t that I didn’t want to, it’s just these dresses,” she gestured helplessly at the now discarded gown. “They aren’t exactly the easiest to maneuver in, least of all for someone who’s not got the best coordination. Plus, I could never remember all the steps to such rigid routines.”

She watched as he cleaned his face and neck, rivulets running down his chest and back. She could have watched him all night, mesmerized by the way the muscles of his body flexed and twisted under his glistening skin. She’d been watching so intently in fact, she hadn’t realized he’d been saying something.

“Sorry?”

He caught her eye, reading everything that had been running through her mind. He grinned. “I said, didn’t you have balls in yer time?”

“We do – _did_ ,” she replied, pulling her eyes away from his torso to fully meet his gaze. “Only the few I went to, we didn’t call them balls really, just dances. And well, our dances weren’t as… formal, I suppose you could say.”

“Oh aye? And how do you dance - then?” he asked, moving toward her as he dried himself off, mischief lining every inch of his face.

She smiled, getting up to meet him. He threw the towel he’d been using on to the seat she’d just vacated and stood waiting for his first lesson. “Well,” she said, taking a step toward him. “Depends on who you’re dancing with, for starters.” He immediately raised his right hand to formally take hers, as his left automatically went behind his back. She couldn’t stop grinning as she took his hands, gently placing them on her hips, stepping ever closer. “And secondly, depends on the music.” She locked her hands around his neck drawing him down to her so that they were cheek to cheek. She began to sway, slowly and sensually from one side to another. Instinctively, his arms wrapped about her back as if by their own volition, bringing their bodies completely together.

“Mmmmm,” he murmured in her ear. “I havena an ear for music, but I am a quick learner,” he whispered as his hips suggestively mirrored her own. He smelled of fine wine and his own heady scent. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply filling herself with nothing but Jamie. “That… you most certainly are.” She whispered back, pressing her temple to his.

The longer they oscillated, the freer their hands became. Jamie’s left a scorching trail in their wake; from her back to her hips, up her sides and down her rear. She groaned as his hands came back up her sides and his thumbs traced the outer shape of her breasts.

Claire’s hands had ventured on their own, more thorough explorations, burrowing into the soft hair at the base of his neck, enjoying the rasp of his chest hair on her fingertips and how his nipples instantly hardened as she brushed past them. Gently, she committed to memory the entire shape of him, the hollow between shoulder blades, the muscles she’d watched twist and flex earlier, and the scars that webbed his back. Finally delving beneath his kilt to cup his backside, making him arch his hips ever more toward hers. His need having become more than apparent. Their lips met in an eager tenderness. They breathed each other in, for minutes or hours; neither could have said how long they stood there, intoxicated by the other, both aching to join, but neither wanting to break from the trance.

“I canna wait any longer,” he breathlessly moaned into her mouth. She’d begun to uncontrollably tremble as his questing hands found and untied the knot of her shift, slipping it off her shoulders and sending it fluttering to the floor. “I canna wait either,” she replied just as breathless, as she lightly tugged at his kilt which obliging joined her shift.

They swayed toward the bed, their hips and lips never once losing contact, their breath coming in gasps. Her ears rang and her head filled with a pleasant dizziness. She lay back against the pillows, but was surprised when he didn’t join her. He stood by the bed’s edge, drinking in the sight of her; the long, elegant lines of her body, the way her skin glowed in the firelight, her hips still looked like they danced for him. She cocked her eyebrow at him, questioning his hesitation. He grinned his cheeky grin, eyes full of mischief, then slowly stretched himself out on top of her, drunk on the feel of her, all along their naked lengths, “I dinna know what ye call that dance, Sassenach,” he teased, “but it isna one I’m likely to ever forget.”


End file.
